iNeed To Know
by FeigningInterest
Summary: It's my choice, my decision, and if it turns out bad... my regret. Freddie's POV


**AN**: A random, albeit, depressing plot that popped into my head in the wee hours of the AM.

* * *

It's quiet, which isn't something I'm used to when it comes to fights with my mom. I can tell, by the way she isn't looking at me, that I've hit a nerve.

"I just want to see him, mom. It's not like I want to move out of the country with him and never talk to you again."

She crosses her arms and turns away from me. "There's no difference to me! You might as well pack your things and leave a letter saying you've moved to Venice with a Grunge band! And - and refuse to let me give you a going away tick bath!"

"It's my choice, mom. I just want to know."

"There's nothing to know, Freddie! He's a boring person, I promise."

I feign a smile my mother's way. "Mom, I love you. You know that. And you're a great mom. A little… over the top sometimes, but that's because you care so much."

"My loving you is why I don't want you seeing him! Freddie, when things go wrong the only memory you're gonna be left with is the one where you're sitting alone with a broken heart."

"I'm nineteen, mom. I haven't seen my father since the fifth grade. I want—_need_ to see him now."

"Fine…" she says, releasing her crossed arms and letting them flop to her side. "But I warned you, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

"Maybe your mom's right."

I look over at Carly and shrug. "I'll never know until I see him. He could be the worst person in the world, or the best… he's still a part of my genetics. He's not really my father, but he's a part of the reason I'm here."

"Ugh, can I kick him in the reason for helping make you?" asks Sam from the computer counter.

"If I can kick your mom in the reason," I retort.

"Bad idea. She may take it in a creepy 'is that a new I-want-you-in-my-reason thing these teenagers are doing nowadays' way."

I both cringe and smile at this. "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."

"I second that," Carly says with a shudder. "Anyway, I think you should just let things stay the way they are. That way, if he's some horrible person then you don't have to know."

"It doesn't matter what kind of a person he is. I just want to meet him. To know why he hasn't been in my life all these years."

"Yeah, but…"

"Carly, I get it. You don't want me getting hurt. My mom said the same thing."

"You should do it," Sam says. "Thick or thin, stupid or smart. Hairy or balding, the man's your sperm donor. If he turns out to be amazing, then great. It explains how you turned out decent. If he turns out to be crap, then you outdid your genetics. It's a win-win situation. Just… don't get your hopes up."

I look at Sam, a little dumbstruck. "That's what I've been saying. Just different wording and everything."

"I can be serious when I need to be."

I rub the back of my neck. "Yeah, but… it's weird."

"So is your hair, but chizz! I still take you seriously." Sam huffs, then smirks, "Well, sort of seriously."

"Freddie, are you sure you want to meet your dad again?" Carly interjects, her eyes squinted the same way my mother's do when she's concerned about me.

"Yes, Carly. I just spent three hours convincing my mother to give me his number. I'm not going to spend another three hours convincing you two."

Sam clears her throat and shoots me a look. "I happen to think you should meet him."

"Okay… then I'm not going to spend another three hours trying to convince Carly. Better, Sam?"

"Much." She smiles and picks up one of the plastic fruit from the counter.

"Sam, that's not… never mind." Carly sighs, watching her friend take a bite out of a plastic pear.

Sam chews, her face twisting into contemplation, an edge of semi-disgust playing at her face. Carly and I watch her, wordlessly, as she walks to the trash can.

"You alright, Sam?" I ask, almost not laughing.

"Who buys fake fruit for decoration? I mean— to prank homeless people, yeah. Makes sense. 'Merry Christmas, Hollywood! Here's a fruit basket that'll last you all year.' But for decoration? What? Is Spencer eighty now?"

"Spence got tired of having to throw out old fruit," Carly says with a shrug. "He said it gives the room bad mojo."

Exasperated, Sam blinks at her and takes her seat again. She shakes her head and turns her eyes back to me. "So, when're you meeting him?"

"Tomorrow. At the Groovy Smoothie. I called him about 20 minutes ago, and he agreed to meet me there around 4:30 after school. "

"You ready for it?" she asks. "For him to disappoint you?"

I sigh and nod. "_If _he disappoints me."

* * *

I ring my hands together, fidgeting in my seat. Glancing expectantly at the clock, only to find that not much time has passed since the last time I checked. I've been anticipating this all day. Staggering through school, rehearsal, mom giving me a good luck flea scrub, just waiting for this.

It's about ten minutes to five and my dad's running late. It may be silly of me, but I'm nervous.

"Freddie?"

My head snaps towards the call of my name, and I spot him. "Um, Mr. Mitchell?"

"Yeah, um, you're the boy I'm meeting here, right?" He staggers a bit my way and sticks his hand out for me to shake it. I do so, and we both sit.

"So, you're sixteen now?"

I raise an eyebrow at him and scoff, "Almost twenty, actually. It's four months until my birthday."

"Really? Time flies." He laughs a bit and sways. "So, you graduated High School?"

"Yeah…" I pause and eye him a bit. "About two weeks ago."

"Good, good. You goin' to college?"

"My mom would kill me if I didn't."

"Your mom?" He scoffs, shaking his head emphatically. "Miranda was an oddball. That I remember. The woman about drove me crazy. And she wonders why I left her crazy ass."

"Marrisa. My mom's name is Marrisa. Not Miranda, and…"

"Oh! _Marrisa's_ your mom?" He sways again, this time with a hiccupped laugh. "She's even worse! Man, that lady was so frikin'…"

"You know what," I sputter, voice louder than necessary. "Let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Sure, sure," he says, clicking his tongue and looking around the Groovy Smoothie. "Hmm, how do you like the girls? Sloppy and blonde, girls who'd ride ya nasty, or all clean and dark-headed where you know you're the cherry picker?"

I blush a little, taken aback by this. "W-what are you talking about?"

"Just wonderin', boy. There's these mighty fine little misses looking over at you from across the way."

I follow his gaze and spot two very familiar faces. I smile at Carly and Sam and look back at the man seated in front of me. "They're my friends."

He gives me a pointed look. "So, which one have you schooked?"

"They're my _friends_! I've known them since Elementary school!"

He laughs, slumping in his seat a bit. "So you've boned the both of 'em? That a boy! You're a tiger like your old man."

A pit builds itself against my chest, and I stand and head for the door. There's an overwhelming urge to hit the half-baked, half incapacitated, whole jackwad in front of me. I swallow it, with my disappointment, and storm my way towards the door. A dry and painful lump making its way into my throat.

I hear Carly call out to me but I don't stop.

I hear Sam say something—but I don't catch it.

I just walk.

Away from the man who never wanted me, away from the drunk who left me and my mother to fend for ourselves. Away from this stranger who doesn't even remember me.

I make my way across the shop, to the door, and outside without stopping.

I walk a good forty feet before the once boiling anger freezes, and I fall to my knees.

"Hey."

I look over and snarl, "What is it, Sam?"

She doesn't say anything else; she just stands in front of me, looking down at me. I stand, hating having to look up at her. "Sam, if you've come to say something rude, then…"

I'm a bit stupefied when she wraps her arms around my waist.

I return her hug and place my chin on top of her head.

"I'm sorry he hurt you, Freddie," she says, muffled by my chest. "I wish I could give you a dad that you deserve. One that would treat you better than he does. A dad who'd stay with you."

I don't know what to say, so I squeeze her closer to me.

"You know, Fredward. You turned out to be a pretty decent guy." Sam moves her face to look up at me. "And I like the you that _you_ made."

* * *

**AN:** :-) So, it isn't the best. But I worked awhile on it. :-/ Review please! It's my first fic in awhile, so I'm a little rusty.


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